Soul
by Sazmuffin
Summary: Short little drabble. NickGreg. What does Greg have that Nick doesn't? K to be safe.


Title: Soul

Author: Sazmuffin

Ship: Nick/Greg

A/N: Came to me randomly. Hope you enjoy. xD

There was something about him. A free, childish manner that exploded from him as he entered a room. It hit everyone with an impressive force, lightening their mood in even the most complicated of situations. Something within him always kept him happy. He had his low points, of course, but he'd find a way to slowly solve the problem. I don't know how he does it. I can barely control myself when I try and solve the problems of strangers, I don't even know how to begin to solve my own, personal problems. I put myself through more stress than I know how to deal with.

It was only a few years ago, I was being stalked by my cable man. He almost blew my brains out with a nine millimeter, getting the notion into his head that I would die for him, that I would let him kill me and almost live vicariously through me. He wore my clothes and broke into my house. I've seen countless gun barrels shoved into my face and I barely even batted an eyelash. I took life for granted, up until I almost lost it. Goddamn ants.

Which brings me to my question. How does he do it? Better yet, how can he do it and I can't? He went from lab rat to CSI, and yet he can still cope with the pressure of a night shift CSI. I don't understand it. How can he possibly have a life outside his job? Does he sleep? What does he do during the day? I'm not jealous of Greg. I'm not.

I just don't understand. Why does he have that I don't have? I've seen him with some dates, dates who looked completely content with his schedule, while I can barely even go on one without being paged about an OD or a DB or anything. How come he gets to be the carefree one? I used to be carefree, yes, I was. I could party with the best of 'em. But now my life revolves around my life, instead of my job revolving around my life. I answer to it, it doesn't answer to me. I guess that's what you get when you go into a job like mine.

These people, these so called "victims" who lose their loved ones act as if we have no life of our own. That we were put on this earth solely to figure out who it was who killed their brother or sister or husband. They have no respect for us, they don't know what we go through to solve their problems, the problems they couldn't solve. But then I'm reminded of how much I really do love my job, when I see a little boy run into the arms of his mother, reunited. How joy literally fills me up to my ears when I catch the suspect and find the victim alive all in the span of thirty seconds.

I'm reminded when I run my fingers through his hair, when I feel those lips, those soft, beautiful lips slowly press against my own, rough, cracked ones. His angelic body rubs up against mine and I experience an ecstasy I haven't felt in a long, long time. His forehead touches mine and I see his white smile as I look down at his lips, for they're smiling and I love to see him smiling. Something inside me clicks and I realize that this is what keeps him sane. Knowing that there really is a life under the black Forensics vest. He knows that, despite what the family of the deceased thinks, we are free to live our lives as if we never knew them, never knew their troubles, never knew of their existence.

He doesn't live day-to-day, as I have ever since I realized my life was a stake every day I left home for my shift, he lived for the future, knowing that there was something more out there and this was only conditioning for it. The game was about to start and we were still putting on our cleats. Greg lives for the thought that he could improve himself, make himself a better citizen, and in doing that, he was fulfilled. He helped people rest their minds, rid themselves of worry, and restored peace to their conscious. He was, in all reality, a better CSI already than I could ever hope to become.

As I lay next to him, his eyes closed and his body curled into mine, I brush his hair from his face. He rested my mind; he ridded me of worry; he restored my peace. He found what I lost.

He found my soul.


End file.
